


Long Live The King

by TheBectacularNow



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Consort Merlin (Merlin), Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Soft Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25922884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBectacularNow/pseuds/TheBectacularNow
Summary: Merlin is just trying to get an early start on polishing the royal scepter.  After all, for all Arthur berates him, he's always been a most dedicated manservant.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 141





	Long Live The King

**Author's Note:**

> My first Merlin fic and first smut fic all in one! Bless the triple goddess I guess lol.
> 
> My personal headcanon for our soft boys here is that they've now been in a romantic relationship for several months and are still exploring the physical side of it. I always think of Arthur as really touch-starved, so I like the idea that what happens in this fic is a new or still not fully explored experience for him, making it all the more special. I don't specifically state that in the fic though, so you can read it however you prefer!
> 
> Also, even though I literally don't mention any other characters in this fic, I want you to know that every character other than Uther is alive and happy because reasons.
> 
> Hope your reading experience is magical!
> 
> ________________

**Long Live The King**

  
The young king woke with a sudden, though certainly not unwelcome start.

“Ohhh by the Gods.”

If Arthur had a single brain cell left at the moment, he would have marvelled at how quickly sleep could be made to retreat when given the proper incentive. But as it were, his brain cells seemed to have retreated with sleep at the first sign of pleasure far too grand to comprehend.

“Oh, I know you’re not giving the Gods credit for this,” came the muffled, playfully indignant reply before the silky sheets were forcefully cast away to reveal the source. And lo and behold, there was Merlin in all his naked glory, a sight even Arthur’s most debauched fantasies could never have foretold but a reality he was all too happy to indulge in.

Honestly, if Arthur could bear to let anyone else see Merlin in this state - the glittering mischief in his eyes and spit on his chin hinting quite pointedly at what he had been doing, the spread wings of raven locks where he had been fully immersed under the bed coverings and goddamn bobbing with purpose surely the source of rumor and reverence - he would have commissioned a painter right now. And a bard.

There were just too many details for one man to capture alone. Trust Arthur. He had known the man in body and soul for years - in body especially thoroughly these past months with their blooming relationship - and he still found that, for all the safe familiarity that remained constant, there was always something new and exquisite and beautiful to take in, to treasure. Like right now.

Arthur had been in plenty of wars in his young life, but Merlin’s eyes as he gazed into them were like the most beautiful battle he had ever seen, a tussle between the softness of sky blue and the dark hunger of night as both fought for the right to drape over Arthur’s garden of curls below.

And those lips.

Those lips were puffed and parted, glistening quite literally just a breath away from Arthur’s very interested cock. And where the warlock’s eyes had simply cloaked him, that warm, ragged breath consumed him. It was as if the most glorious forest fire had taken root in that garden between his legs, right at the large, healthy stem of his cock, and torn through him with abandon, each whimpering breath of his own just feeding the flames.

And as Arthur watched in that burning fascination and awe, begging to be licked by the flames - oh god, why did his brain have to think ‘lick,’ where the fuck was Merlin’s tongue, the teasing bastard - Merlin’s eyes dropped back to his cock, pusling with heat as if it knew the flames were so desperately close. And even though their eye contact was broken, Arthur could see the moment the raging battle within Merlin’s own was won. For as black forcefully took blue, eyelids descending like the veil of night, Merlin’s smile widened - impossibly, mischievously, gloriously - to take Arthur’s cock, whole and deep, the flames of his tongue as greedy as they were warm.

And fuck it, fuck it all, Arthur was going to order a goddamn sculptor to their chambers too.

“Ohhhh Merlin love, by the gods what are you doing and how are you so good at doing it?” Arthur just barely gasped the question out in unfettered bliss, throwing his golden head back into the pillows as his nether head prodded the back of Merlin’s throat.

Gods he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to grasp - for fuck’s sake was his desperate brain choosing these suggestive words on purpose? - the answer if Merlin deigned to give him one.

Which of course he did, resurfacing once more with a wicked pop.

The teasing trollop.

“Mmm I thought it was obvious, sire. I’m polishing the royal scepter. I do believe it was on my list of chores for the day.”

And the grin that accompanied those words was already almost too much to comprehend in this debauched state, but then Merlin’s tongue darted out, lathering Arthur’s ‘scepter’ from root to tip in illustration, eye contact never wavering, and Arthur honest to God allowed himself a moment to contemplate whether Merlin was part fae with the way he could have unhesitatingly gotten Arthur to hand over his own soul in that very moment if asked.

“You’re not my servant anymore, Merlin,” Arthur finally forced out in a pant when his own tongue remembered it could be used to form words - though they were an admittedly less fun thing to use it for. “You may remember that as of yesterday, you’re officially my Royal Consort.”

And how could the burning not slow for just a moment at that, simmering into something softer, like the constant warmth Merlin had forcefully made a home for in Arthur’s chest when he irreversibly weaseled his way into the monarch’s life all those years ago, the persistent, adorable stoat.

And damn had Arthur loved every messy second of it.

Every single one.

“Which is a relief, because you really were the worst manservant,” he finished with a laughing grin.

Merlin’s lips quirked up too at that, and even if Arthur hadn’t been able to see them where they hovered so goddamn close, he would have felt the image of them against his tip, pressing against him for just a tantalizing moment each time he throbbed, surely more teasing than any joke the warlock had ever thrown his way in their years of friendship and months of this more.

Arthur wondered if they were too far into their relationship for him to still throw Merlin in the stocks for misbehavior.

“Mmm I think you’ll remember that as your manservant I was most dedicated to your needs,” the warlock punctuated with a quick but firm kiss to his king’s visibly needy cock, the extremity immediately twitching to follow the sinful lips as if begging the to be the key that unlocks them, a sword not in the mood for being held and desperately longing for a sheath.

“And I’ve got to say, sire, after my years of knowledge from serving you, I think the only way to truly resolve this scepter situation is with a spit shine.”

And with that, Arthur was positive any secretly lingering brain cells had abandoned him completely and eternally and that he would need to appoint a new leader for Camelot. For Merlin finally tipped those wild raven locks downward in the most downright debaucherous imitation of a bow Arthur had ever seen and that revelous mouth put itself to work as no part of Merlin ever had before.

And Gods, forget all the times Merin had saved Arthur’s life, now the man was about to fucking suck it right out of him in blissful retribution.

Any playful restraint the warlock had shown earlier was seemingly in the same exile as Arthur’s brain cells.

The warlock’s lips and tongue wrapped and pressed and hummed around the young king with abandon, as if trying to speak every intimate truth of their years together without words. The smooth glide of Merlin’s tongue along his shaft, dipping into the slit at his tip in exploration before swirling around to crown the head and returning home, composed the most beautiful ballad of their story. Arthur, honest to Gods, thought he might cry over it. And, as Merlin’s cheeks repeatedly hollowed out to suck him harder, suck him deeper, suck him more, Arthur could feel every truth of his own tumbling forth happily from his gasping, parted lips.

Arthur’s hands had twisted in the sheets sometime towards the beginning of this blissful torture in an effort to submit, to unquestioningly give Merlin the full, unconditional control he knew he could trust to no one else. But as he found his traitorous, needy fingers weaving through the warlock’s hair just a moment later with a mind of their own - probably as long gone as his honestly - the monarch realized his control of the situation hadn’t actually increased at all. No, for the monarch quickly learned that pulling on Merlin’s hair was like tugging the reins of a horse: guiding and begging, but so undisputedly at the mercy of the beast, fated to follow its every whim, wherever that may lead.

And if it wasn’t for Merlin’s own hands holding him firmly as he writhed below, holding him as no one else had been allowed to hold him before, prolonged and personal and perfect, Arthur surely would have launched himself onto Llamrei this very second and followed those damn whims anywhere.

“Merlin,” Arthur begged, a plea and a prayer alike.

Okay, so maybe he was actually still working on his following skills. No one is perfect.

“Merlin, Merlin, Merlin.”

And suddenly it didn’t matter that he wasn’t the best at following because Merlin’s hands were right there, moving with him, pulling him deeper into the inferno. They wrapped around him but never stilled, dancing like flames desperate to claim new territory, blazing against the ground with fervor and marking it for the world to see.

“How are you touching so many parts of my body?” Arthur moaned at the touches, melting into them, savoring the burn. “I told you your limbs are unnaturally long. Gods, they’re perfect though.”

And Gods, how had he ended up with this enchanting creature, this man of holy fire and magic, wrapping around him, pulling him tight, stealing all his goddamn oxygen.

Arthur couldn’t even remember his own name at this point, couldn’t remember if he’d ever had a name, for surely the only name to ever exist was Merlin’s, warm and soft as it tumbled from his lips easier than his own breath. This was the name still being pressed into his cock, annunciated in great detail by the attentive tongue winding it down his length before sucking the sounds right back out of him, a tutor demanding the echo of knowledge from his pupil.

Arthur was only too happy to oblige.

“Merlin, Merlin, I’m...Merlin, Merlin, MERLIN,” he cried out a final time in unending reverence to the man before him and any God who would listen to his gratitude as his body shuddered - crackling in the flames, surely aflame itself - and he felt some of the love Merlin had spent so many years unfalteringly filling him with be physically returned.

Merlin sucked until the shudders ceased, his lips tight to collect every drop of that love. And as Arthur looked on, he couldn’t help but smile through gaping lips and crinkled, lidded eyes as Merlin allowed the hollows of his cheeks to grow full - just like Arthur’s heart had the moment Merlin entered it - before finally swallowing and pulling off with a reverent kiss to Arthur’s thoroughly loved tip and the enticing crease of each thigh.

“God’s I love you, Merlin,” Arthur whispered into the sacred space between them when he could breathe again, his fingers relinquishing their tight hold on the warlock’s raven mane in favor of lovingly combing through it, nails gently drawing a map against the warm scalp for future travels.

And damn wasn’t that the truth of it. The terrifying, fantastic, magical-in-so-many-ways truth of it. Sometimes Arthur honestly wondered if it was possible for one’s heart to grow too full. Wondered if the filling that snuck up on him had begun all those years ago when Merlin had first called him an ass. Wondered how a trained warrior like himself had possibly remained oblivious to this sneak attack until - on a night long overdue - the ass in question suddenly became Merlin’s as it was abruptly and enthusiastically entrusted to him, the rest of the warlock eagerly following.

Speaking of.

“But that beautiful mouth is going to be the death of me,” the monarch huffed through a grin.

And Merlin couldn’t help but laugh in return, light and happy and free, as he crawled up Arthur’s body, each tingle of skin on skin the most magical ability of the warlock’s Arthur had ever known. And just as his lips had finally reached the monarch’s own, promising to press that exquisite name into one more piece of flesh that already sang with it, they veered off track on one of those beastly whims.

Arthur watched them move with purpose on their quest, blazing a teasing trail of cantering flesh and galloping breaths over the sensitive skin below before finally coming to rest right over the monarch’s heart, beating for them like hooves.

And there Merlin spoke the words that weren’t enchanted, but were all the magic he would ever need in this glorious, golden age with this beautiful, golden man.

“Long live the King.”


End file.
